


beneath the kitchen lights

by haru_senji



Series: Cadowly's Songfic December [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Getting Back Together, Post-Break Up, this is not angsty i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27992391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haru_senji/pseuds/haru_senji
Summary: Yaku would say that the stars mocked him all the way to the bar. That would be poetic and shrouded in heavy melancholy. Except the city lights eclipsed anything that wasn’t fueled on neon or electricity, so therewereno stars.A warm breeze whipped through his hair as he got out of the car. Three lamps cast a soft glow over the sign ‘Streetaholic’. It was a familiar sight, woven into a patch of memories with a certain someone. The only things missing were a familiar face and a familiar hand in his.Yaku hadn’t expected to ever see you again, especially not somewhere as cliché as a bar.
Relationships: Yaku Morisuke/Reader
Series: Cadowly's Songfic December [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050188
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	beneath the kitchen lights

**Author's Note:**

> 【i hope i never lose you, hope it never ends, i’d never walk cornelia street again】 - ♥ [cornelia street](https://open.spotify.com/album/1NAmidJlEaVgA3MpcPFYGq?highlight=spotify:track:12M5uqx0ZuwkpLp5rJim1a)  
> i'm not _too_ happy with this but it's passable 😺👍 i hope you enjoy it!!

Yaku would say that the stars mocked him all the way to the bar. That would be poetic and shrouded in heavy melancholy. Except the city lights eclipsed anything that wasn’t fueled on neon or electricity, so there _were_ no stars. 

A warm breeze whipped through his hair as he got out of the car. Three lamps cast a soft glow over the sign ‘Streetaholic’. It was a familiar sight, woven into a patch of memories with a certain someone. The only things missing were a familiar face and a familiar hand in his. 

Yaku hadn’t expected to ever see you again, especially not somewhere as cliché as a bar.

But there you were, a strand of hair tickling your jaw, chin propped in the heart of your palm, finger tracing the rim of a glass half-filled with alcohol. Yaku’s hands twitched, his feet and heart growing heavy as weight force strained to lock hands with gravitational force. (He wondered how he still remembered what these forces were called. He’d probably have to thank the science-for-brains Kuroo. Ew.) 

His brain did not deem the low-hanging lamps and low chatter worthy of focusing on. The only thing that he could see with transparent clarity was you. He wanted to tuck that strand of hair behind your ear and kiss your cheekbones like how he did three years ago. 

The mere thought of that, however low the chances of it ever happening again, was what shook him from his trance. He squared his shoulders and willed his feet forward. 

“Good evening, sir. Moscow Mule, please.” 

You glanced over as someone slid into the stool next to you. Moscow Mule was your ex’s go-to drink every time he’d take you to the bar, lips decorated with sweet nothings and sincere praises. And there he was, caramel hair and the nervous twiddling of his fingers, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

You smiled, posture relaxing after a guarded night as a single woman. You didn’t feel any resentment or fury, unlike what was expected from typical exes. You felt as calm as you did back when the two of you had broken up. He’d given you the foretaste of his love, and you’d assured yourself that that was enough. You couldn’t let yourself hold him back from his potential greatness. 

But there was something more tonight, haloed and brought to attention like how the lights crown Yaku’s head. Was it fondness, because of how his hair was cut shorter? Or admiration, because of how he held himself with an air that made you overlook his height? 

Perhaps even love, a rekindling of the fire in your chest that had never gone out?

“Morisuke.”

He stiffened ( _oh my god you said his name_ ), then relaxed. He had no reason to be awkward around you, after all, and neither did you. To be honest, he was quite happy to see you again. 

“Y/N,” he eased into a small grin. 

You swirled the drink in your hand before taking a sip, mirroring his smile. “So what are you doing here on this fine evening?”

The bartender set Yaku’s drink in front of him with practised grace. He thanked them, bowing his upper body a little before turning back to you. 

“Just…hanging out, as usual.” He scratched the back of his neck. He always did that when he was nervous, you remembered. “I’m home for the time being. Got in the national team, I think you saw the news. The first place I thought to come to was here.”

Your smile stretched wider, unable to suppress the swell of joy and pride for him. “I always told you that you were the best.”

Yaku’s heart twanged. He never wanted to leave you for Russia. He’d thought a long-distance relationship would work. Perhaps he was too naive, too stupid, too hopeful. You were the voice of reason who kept his emotions in line, who reined them in and prevented him from sacrificing his entire career for you. And you were right, he admitted grudgingly. That doesn’t make him love you any less. That doesn’t make your waving silhouette vanishing among the crowd at the airport any less painful. 

Was it wrong to still hope?

No, he was asking for too much. Just because the two of you had broken up on good terms didn’t mean you still harboured the same feelings he did for you. 

“It’s not your fault,” you said quietly after he’d gone too quiet for a matter of minutes, letting your hands rest on the counter. It was a sign that he was lost in his thoughts, and more often than not, his criticism and blame were always directed at himself, whether it be a ball he couldn’t receive or a girl he couldn’t keep. 

You always knew what he was thinking, he thought fondly as he raised his eyes to look at you. You gave him another smile, warm honey and vanilla. He wanted to taste your lips. He can’t. He _can’t_. 

He merely nodded, turning his attention back to his drink. 

The night passed quietly, the clock on the wall unexpectedly kind as it gave the two of you time to ease into each other’s presence after three whole years of separation. When the darkness started feeling softer and the glasses emptied, Yaku stood up. 

“I’ll take you home?” It was a question, a sign of how much had changed and how much hadn’t. 

You nodded. “Thank you.” 

He pushed the door open as you exited the bar, as gentlemanly as ever. And like all those years ago, he draped his jacket around your shoulders and opened the car door to the passenger’s seat before circling around to the driver’s seat. 

“Are… are you still living on (street name)?” he asked as he started the engine, one hand on the wheel. 

You shook your head, huddling closer into the lingering warmth of his jacket. “No, I moved after…after you went to Russia. My new place is on (another street name).”

He nodded and typed the address into the navigation system. The wind howling in your ears as it jumped in through the open window and the silence occasionally punctuated by the dull voice of the navigation system shouldn’t be so comforting, but it was. You knew that it had something to do with the man beside you, both hands on the wheel. Yaku had always felt safe, an immovable support beam. Until he moved 3,633 kilometres away. And even then, on your bad days, you’d remember him, the sunlight in his eyes as he woke you up for breakfast, the smile on his lips as he danced with you in the kitchen, and everything would feel better. Yaku was hope, a new beginning. 

Your thoughts lingered on that as he walked you back to your apartment. Your feet carried you forward as your mind busied itself with possibilities. Could you…start again? You felt more ready for a long-distance relationship now than you did a few years ago. You were more confident, both in yourself and your love, in the fact that your feelings never faded even though he wasn’t with you. 

An amused puff of air left Yaku’s lips as you invited him into the house. You’d gotten a place with a big kitchen again, he noted. _‘More space to dance in!’_ your voice echoed in his mind, bringing him back to the day the both of you went apartment shopping together. 

The memories rushed back to him without warning, hemisected videos of dancing, of laughter, and of pure, devoted love, tearing apart the thick yet fragile night. 

“Y/N,” he reached out to grab your wrist before reasoning could stop him. He sounded a bit breathless. You turned, startled. Yaku read your eyes like the worn book on his bookshelf, easily, habitually. What he found in them made the shaking of his body stop.

He swallowed, and drew a breath to make up for the rapidly decreasing oxygen supply in his lungs. 

“Would you…would you like to try again? One more time. I - I really do love you, even after so many years. I can’t stop thinking about you even if we’re countries apart. No one could ever compare to you. And -” He runs a hand through his hair, and you suddenly remember the day he confessed to you back in high school, the same colouring cheeks, the same uncertain smile. 

You closed the distance between the two of you in an instant, and all Yaku could think of was how he’d thought of tasting your lips in the bar. When you pulled apart, his mouth was still hanging open. You giggled, unable to resist giving him another peck on the cheek. 

“Yes,” you said, face flushing a bit after the kiss. “I’d love to fill in all the blanks of a fresh page with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [@haru-senji](https://haru-senji.tumblr.com/)!


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